review of mamaist: a different sort of light KYOTO JOURNAL

Kyoto Journal 95 Spring 2020

Reviews

Mamaist Heartbeat Otherwise: A Poetry Roundup


[.....]
       Alan Botsford avoids the two traps that often ensnare poets.The first trap is for a poet to become so smitten with a style that he or she starts to write all his or her poems in that style.The second trap occurs when poets write poems that leave one, after the last line is read, with nothing: nothing to think about, nothing memorable, not a belly laugh, a giggle, or a grimace. Botsford, in his most recent "mamaist" tome, writes in a variety of styles He calls some of his mamaist work "generic poems," by which he means poems that use "generic" language--everyday words and phrases--that he twists in a way that revivifies it. It's the creativity and wit in some of these poems that will stay with readers the longest. In a time when too much of what is offered as poetry is, in fact, chopped prose, it is a delight to find, in a poem called "a mamaist earth of heart":


Yes, you amigo of imago (no scold of clods)--
sing out your amens of names
with booms of bosom borne of boner,
and mania of anima under a cloud of could!
Armed of dream, takes your moods of dooms,
your swords  of words and befriend the devil of lived!


Language is central to what poems are. This is so obvious that one feels silly writing it, especially when one has just been reminded of what a poem can be by language play as lively as Botsford's. One is happy to be so reminded, and also to experience in books such as these the vibrancy and vigor of the English-language poetry scene in Japan.

- David Cozy

A review of mamaist: a different sort of light

http://www.decompmagazine.com/mamaist.htm

A Review of mamaist: a different sort of light
by Alan Botsford

Spencer Dew

“After all, doesn’t milk sound like a miracle?” Not dada, then, but something more nourishing, nudging the unfurl of a seed, “fern-like, out from under / every moment, a tongue, a feather, a flame lifting into the air,” a smell like fresh-baked bread and rich, tilled soil.

While there’s mention here of the notorious nobodaddies—“Uncle-Sam-I-Am” up in the sky—of patriarchal pasts and presents, the gift of this collection is to focus us elsewhere than the phallocentric “I.” Indeed, here, that “I” is surrendered to the wind of words, “a mamaist Daedalus” falling, equipped “with traits of artist and . . . rawness of answers” who nonetheless is confronted in due course with “the coming of gnomic as the cosmic of comics.”

From the hum and crackle of electrotherapy to the notion of light as love, a warm enveloping—from the dark that crows speak of, each to each, to dream horses that may be metaphors for everything but are also just precisely what they are in any given, shifting, moment—such sources are mined via a generous generative. One poem, for instance, is collaged out of titles of City Lights books. Others ask questions such as What if Dante had gotten distracted on his walk? and What if all true writing “is a translation from somewhere” unknown?

The mamaist stance or sensibility, then, is to submit to this, to open oneself, surrendering the self bit, and then

to be taking lessons from the cosmos, in pain and in joy . . . to learn how to walk the dizzying edge between two worlds—how, for instance, to enter a house shoeless like a ghost, how, whenever you read, to read from finish to start; how to eat words—still wriggling and writhing in your mouth—raw, and with a nod of your head to look for the next sentence to be complete...

Official Alan Botsford Web Site

Verse Daily poem

One of my poems, entitled "Dante Recalling an Encounter with Beatrice," was shared by Verse Daily site on June 23, 2019:  (click) "Dante recalling an encounter with Beatrice" Alan Botsford   "One afternoon while thinking of you, Beloved, I left..."

The poem is from my new book "mamaist: a different sort of light" (dark woods press, 2019)

The Ekphrastic Review poem

"Way of Seeing"
(after John Berger, d. Jan. 2, 2017)

http://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic/way-of-seeing-by-alan-botsford

A different sort of light

We are, it seems, all under some guy

Way up there in the vast sky.

It's a man's world from above,

It's true, one we can't afford not to love.

But what motions from below

Is what I root for, just so you know.

It's a thrill to be on site

Of a different sort of light.

But whose dream, then, are we in,

You'd ask: happy ending, or ruin?

Faithful to prophets of Uncle-Sam-I-Am,

Iriff on the endurance of time.

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: a different sort of light . Kamakura, Japan, dark woods press, 2019.

a mamaist negotiation

          You're now entering a different world, the shadow world.

                 Oh, no, not again. Please…

          Look. Do you want to talk about all the things you can't 

          do, or the things you can do?

                 But what is it I'm trying to achieve?

          Equiliberty.

                 You mean equilibrium?

          Whatever. Here you never know what you're going to  

          find.

                 Chaos? Chaos can't be beat but orderliness has its 

                 satisfactions too.

          Quit staring out of your peep hole! It’s time you give  

          back to people! Besides, you're not after information 

          here, which is unchangeable, and deals in death.

                 But sometimes...you know... I mean… it's so... you 

                 know...that it can drive one nuts. Were it not for 

                 my uttering banalities I wouldn't have any means 

                 of keeping myself together, and that's the truth!

          I wouldn't have made it harder for you if I hadn't 

          thought it would be easier. 

                 But… what do I have to give?

          A universe... yourself... Don't you see? What occurs here 

          has consequences in the far reaches of the cosmos.      

                 I don't buy it!

         What this is, friend, cannot be bought or sold.           

                 But I can't find any footprints... where are the 

                 footprints?

         You've walked in lots of different shoes, you've worn lots  

         of different hats. Why do you have to be like so-and-so or  

         such-and-such? What's wrong with being whatever your  

         name is? 

                 But won’t I stand out like a sore thumb!

        Didn’t you always want to be outstanding? Just follow your 

        desire for being none other than you are.

                 Look, this seems to be getting us nowhere! Do you 

                 mind if we change the terms of discourse?

         Oh, so you want rhyme? I'll give you rhyme!(But not this  

         time.)

         You want rhythm? I'll show you how! 
        (But not here, not now-- it's too lowbrow!)

         Yes, the whole world's a pun! Ain't it fun?

         The River of Ha-Ha flows under the Bridge of Ho-Ho 

         out into the Sea of Hee-Hee

         where everything's new under the sun!

                 Yes, er… that’s all well and good but what I'd like  

                 to know is why we are even talking about this?

         The question is, why aren't we talking about this more 

         often? To live is to head out on an unmarked trail. If you 

         read the signs they’ll all add up to one thing: stop 

         searching for the perfect world, and love the world you’re 

         in.

                 But with all the pain we inflict on one another, 

                 how does one cope?

         Now you’re talking! Welcome to the long haul! You forgive 

         and go on. How else can one go?

                 To be broken?

         Yes.

                 And broken...?

         Yes.

                 And broken again...?

         You’re right on the money, but none the wiser.

                 But I feel delirious! I mean, it seems there's a fine 

                 line between being casual… and being a casualty.           

         What is groundbreaking, it’s true, can be heartbreaking.  

                 You mean, the impossible--it's being done?

         Don’t you see? A human being means waking up. You 

         gotta dig deep, to where things sing.

                 But one feels, in the singing, so... exposed!

         What's being made open is the fact that so much is 

         hidden. What one becomes is, to say the least, pretty hard  

         to come by. 

                  But what can one do to make things better in the 

                  meantime?

         One's choice of words shows that one is listening--which 

         has the effect of raising the level of the other person’s 

         capacity for listening. 

                 But sometimes it’s hard to see anything good. That 

                 is, when you read between the lines there may be   

                 nothing but these slithering, hidden meanings!

         Look, nobody's asking you to ruin your life with bald

         statements.--we're talking twists and turns here. If you  

         look carefully there's a pattern that surfaces. That's  

         the stage you're at--finding the pattern.              

                 Yes, but, oh, how I hate snakes--slow and without 

                 sound…. I hate the way they move!

         You seem to be enjoying it.

                 But I'm talking straight here!

         Okay...But you just oinked!

                 …I did!

         And you just hissed!

                 …Really?

         Now you're cooing!

       　　　　　…Ooooooh! 

         Doesn't talking this way make you feel free?

                 Yeah. Free as a caged bird…　It's good of you, 

                 though, putting up with all that I am.  

         Don't sell yourself short. You're a real gem, two sides of a  

         rare coin, the genuine article. 

                 Thanks. Can I have the receipt?

         You’ve got it.

                 I'm… er… afraid the change isn't enough.

         Don't mention it. You have so much more to give. …Now,  

         If you don’t mind, I'd like to stay and argue with you 

         some more, but you know what they say.

                 No, what?

        You can't argue with success.

                 Wait. Before you go, what do the words "be quiet"  

                 say?

        Can’t you hear? They say ‘bouquet’… 





Botsford, Alan. A Book of Shadows. Katydid Books, 2003.

answering angel

This is not sleep,

          This is the rustle of

Angels’ wings through

          And beyond you. We are

Many. We watch over you

          All the light long.

Our wings blaze up with your pain.

          Our witness is also to

Your sorrow, your shame, your

          Desire for repentance.

We hear you in

          the depths 

Of your loneliness and despair.

          Be not afraid of

These depths of feeling.

          They call to us

And give us a place to live.

          We cherish these depths,

For they are where we belong.

          When your cries

In your dreams reach our ears,

          Our listening spirit turns

Your utterance towards grace where

          Behold, all is

Forgiven, all is accepted, all is real.

          The brush of our wings

Lifts your wounded spirit into

          Eternity, where you are

Healed, made whole again.

          We are the new inside

The old, we are here

          Awaiting you,

Loving everything you say and do.

          We will never let you down.

We are your joy.

          Where you inscribe

These words is our heart.

          We are the 2^nd and 3^rd and 4^th

And 5^th and 6^th and 7^th

          Chances you didn’t know you had.

We give without being asked.

          We arise out of your sleep

And return to whence we came.

          But you need not close

Your eyes to see us or to know

          That we are there.

The words you find

          To say in this state of 

Grace we will polish into pearls

          And string across the sky

Deep within you, and whenever you

          Look up you can read

What they have to say to you.

          Words gathered from meadows,

Plucked from trees, found by the shore,

          Overheard in the babbling

Brook as voices 

          That have long since gone—

By those words we know you,

          The plea you utter now

We hear. And we can say

          To you that all will be well, all will be well.

The lessons you learn on your journey

          Day by day, night after night,

We are writing together,

          In collaboration.

This is the book that will never

          Be opened. This is the book

That will never be closed.

          We are hidden from view,

But when a wrong is committed

          By you—and there will be many—

You will not be able to look us

          In the eye. That is when

You will know for sure

          We exist, always here in your midst.

But only in the middle of

          This prayerful attitude, only then

Will we answer back.

          Whenever you’re not listening,

This door will be closed.

          For the key, ask the child.

Botsford, Alan. A Book of Shadows. Katydid Books, 2003.

a mamaist ghostwriting

caught in the throes of history,

respecter of persons, identity,

becalm me, take me back

to my self, ground me

in this chasm of appearances

--lost as I am among shadows--

and make me real again

for I would make the case for

proportional representation, reflecting

all of us, in reflecting, yes, 

all 

of me…

    

      …the right password gets you in,

where everyone is lost in their discovered identities,

though I can almost hear them saying, 'But what

you end up with is a bunch of rose petals!

Where's the rose?'

Botsford, Alan. A Book of Shadows. Katydid Books, 2003.

a mamaist pitch

friends subsidize each other

I'm targeting you right now

friend, 

don't let this fire end

to be my friend wait 100 years

then we'll see about being friends

right now

we are as allies in the light of the shadows

Botsford, Alan. A Book of Shadows. Katydid Books, 2003.

a mamaist process

Odysseus?

...Er... Well… More or less.

The goddess says, "Yes."

She does? I mean, she DOES?

Yes.

I'm... I'm... speechless!  

...Odysseus?

Yes?

Stop being so anxious.

But... Geez... Us? 

Yes…

Facing the dreaded darkness?

Yes…

And loneliness?

Yes…

And possible madness?

Yes…

But... I'm... I'm such a mess.

…Yes? 

And...and... I'm useless...

You'll stay that way unless...

…Unless?

Unless you can bring the "mess" into some kind of focus.

But what's another human being, more or less?

Wakefulness--you cannot settle for less. What you are at your core is priceless. What mystery isn't fathomless? You must make friends with darkness. 

Yes... but... who exactly is this?

I am your inner, bottomless-hell guide, your soul-mate, your desire, your beautiful Venus!!  

Are... Are you serious?

What did you think, this was just hocus-pocus?

Well, er...yes.

Then re-focus! Think like a genius! 

Oh God! What am I doing? ...Falling into an abyss?

You are entering the boundless shadows, to which you've 

     always had access. Now speak and bear witness.

But this really is none of my business!

It is nothing if not your business! Our lives when read     by the light in the depths of night appear differently to     us. You are here to discover your place in the universe. 

Er... Is it too late to run away and join the circus?

Odysseus? 

Yes?

You're being facetious!

But this is craziness! How am I to make heads or tails out of this? 

Ignore the hour-glass... Use me as your mirror of the timeless. 

But this excess--it's monstrous!

This open dimension of being, it is emptiness. 

But is this not a sickness? 

Love is like a sickness.

But this way lies madness!

Then you must love your madness. 

But the signs, they are ominous.     

Narcissus!

But... But I thought I knew who I was.

You're smitten, you're in love with your own inwardness. But the world-at-large means business, is forcing you to    see your one-sidedness. Your goal is to lift up into  

  consciousness, beyond self-conscious. Just maintain   

  mindfulness. Engage with whatever is, with simple   

  presence and open awareness.

So... Er... What about ‘Odysseus’?

There are many rivers to cross. Your doubt bars further

    progress. Conscious awareness, or else...

Or else?

Continuing blindness, or worse...

But whoever'd want to go through this chaos?

One who would struggle through into higher wakefulness, and discover their authentic beingness. 

You mean, a pilgrim's progress?

Of sorts, yes. 

Er... Any chance of success?

Odysseus! You're not in Kansas! What's needed is suffering, not success. View yourself as a work-in-progress requiring unconditional openness: anything short of that is shortsightedness.  Our teamwork is in oneness.  Let your glimpses at the edge of awareness be your compass.

So the situation, indeed, is serious? How does one get through this?

Stay in focus.The secret is this form that's articulating itself through you, under duress--strained from countless grapes and squeezed in the press. Bring forth this form: it is in readiness. Let it play out in the field of full awareness. 

Feeling one's way like this... This is risky business. 

How much O dare not guess! But fear is contagious. Here on the road of excess all knowledge proceeds by likeness; and your nemesis, which is the unrelenting sameness, is not easy to dismiss. It can lead to paralysis, or worse. This and much more is the power of darkness. 

You mean this fine mess? 

Yes...nothing is obvious. As you penetrate the darkness within the darkness, keep in consciousness. You will wonder exceedingly at the strangeness, but what is loved will reveal its loveliness.

Does taking this path ...er... assure one of greatness?

You've a  ways to go yet, Dennis

Dennis?

Dennis the Menace! Now put your eyeballs back in your 

     head! If you want to be called your highness, you'll           have to not mind appearing more than faintly                   ridiculous. Now take a step back: for there's yet so           much about which you're clueless. 

But I...I feel so helpless.   

                
                 Remember--you're learning how far to go in courting  
                 the darkness. Change starts when you are most  
                 powerless. Your metamorphosis will come in this                                             chrysalis, under cover of darkness, here where                                                   the riches are copious. 

You mean, there’s...er...tremendous richness in the gnosis?

A very intriguing thesis, Dr. Pretorius! 

Er...it is?

So you would act in the name of progress?

Why, of course, yes.

And as a man of Science,  you would use your finesse and mental prowess?

Indeed, yes!

Then, Doctor, admit it!! It's the power of nature you've wanted to harness!

…It is?

And your hunger's been ravenous!

…It has?

It's absorbed you like a game of chess!  

Well... er... I guess.  

Then go right ahead! You don't need me!  Build your unholy monument to worldliness!

Wait, please! Something's amiss! In the game of life, doesn't everyone try to make his bid for happiness?

You've come here expecting to fulfill your wishes? To reap the rewards of the virtuous? To ratify notions of your own happiness?

So my arguments, then, are they useless?

That, in a sense, would be progress. For now, forego analysis. It's bogus. Simply know this--without love, no happiness.

But the paths through this wilderness are tortuous! I feel I'm swinging between the poles of paralysis and something like being spontaneous... 

It's all part of the process. 

Yes, but where's the happiness?

It's all already yours! The world's largess, as Bacchus can attest, is forever sowing seeds of happiness, on a moment to moment basis. 

I've been... er... oblivious?

Let's say that it takes being magnanimous to embrace what in you is both monogamous and polygamous. Consider it everyday eros. But while it’s true that all things have an underlying likeness, each thing must be celebrated for its uniqueness. 

                 
                 This is all Greek to me, alas.

This path is the path of wholeness. You must walk it with keen awareness.

But why must I carry this heavy cross?

ODYSSEUS! Nothing happens without love's fullness and emptiness. Let your willingness to bear witness serve relatedness. 

But what of other people's scorn and bitterness?

Why seek redress? Nobody, thank goodness, is blameless. It is for you to practice forgiveness. 

You mean, "Turn the other cheek?"  That is... so you mean... I mean… Geez! …Us?

Or the nearest earthly likeness.  

But that’s sacrilegious!

Nevertheless...

Is this, then, what it means to be ‘selfless’?

As long as you keep running into other people's unconscious, it is. ...Are you incredulous?

No. Just filled with sadness.  My case seems hopeless. To carry on is pointless...

SISYPHUS!

Er... Us?

Who else? Remember--this is an ongoing, formative process.

But goodness! What will it take to pull me out of this morass?

You mean, what will it take for you to see the obvious? 

I'm at a loss. There's so much darkness...

You would discuss the true meaning of success? 

Why, if possible, yes...

It is to let the ego of fear lose its power to oppress. You must not give up, no matter how hopeless. Let nature take its course. 

Still, I need to know: Will my efforts to redeem myself meet with success?

Amid the ongoing mess of your "me-ness," keep polishing your awareness, ...and you will find your success.

And the pain... it will pass?

The world may seem to spiral towards more chaos, not less. The point is, stay open for business. 

Regardless...?

The struggle to be remade out of this pregnant emptiness will seem endless, for the way's circuitous.  But be not afraid of your aloneness, your uniqueness, your "I am" ness. It's the cost of doing business. 

But it’s so heavy, this cross... 

This is the Light, only it seems to be darkness. 

It's no use! I can't keep doing this!

Let your heart sink into the abyss. Stay each moment in 

awareness. Do it with wholeheartedness and childlikeness. 

But... in this surrounding darkness... so much ugliness...

As you spiral into rankness, stifling foulness, be fearless... Go ahead--now peer into the heart of your darkness... Do you see the 10,000 corpses with your likeness?

Dear God! Yes!

Do not look away. Seeing into suffering is the deepest abyss. Through this you find your humanness. 

But the pain,... it’s relentless!

You must give assent and say yes, in utter nakedness.

But I ...I... can't take... any more... of this! Words ...cannot even begin ...to express...

You would wish some relief from your distress? Let the pain take you in. It should hit you right in the solar plexus. 

Oh! …Sweet Jesus! 

Now don't stop here! Do you see how life and death are  

     synonymous? 

Yes! Yes! 

                 
                 Sing, O sing your heart out, Orpheus! Grieve and                                              mourn your losses.  

...Oh, yes!

The mystery is enormous --everything comes back to this. This is energy you have tried to suppress. 

...Oh, yes! 

 Let the fog dissipate! Let the world come into focus! Show things in their relatedness... how death, too, is tenderness...how in one's divine nakedness is a spirit 

glorious! 

...Oh, yes!

Outward and upward you must press. Fight your way out of this darkness….You can do this. It's time to let go of your distress

Yes! ...Oh, yes!

Do you feel the body as luminous.? 

Yes! ...Oh, yes!

...how its meant for everlasting bliss? 

Yes! ...Oh, yes!

...how the effect is instantaneous?

Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Ooooooh...

ODYSSEUS!

…Er... Yes?

Again eating lotus? 

But...crazy with happiness, how can I do anything less?

The phallus is no mental apparatus--on matters of sexual congress, consult Eros...  Now come into consciousness. Surpass your genius! Be the 'hundredth monkey'! 

…'Hundredth monkey'?…

Chalk it up to your changing status, for no god is yours to possess! ...Now on this wind lifting you, let go, Pegasus! Let your suffering be the wisdom you put on and wear like a crown of gladness. 

You mean, it's all been as if it were thus? 

What else?... Now renew, renew in the bath of forgetfulness. Lest the end be ashes... 

Oh, at last! ...It is done! ...Thank Jesus!

Not yet it isn't, ALAN! 

...Huh? Wh-- What?

Don't try to second guess. Say "yes." 

Er...yes.

Well done, Judas!

Me? ...But ...er... yes?

Now say what it is you have to confess!

I...I...have only love to confess. I am one man, nothing more, nothing less.

And what do you know of bliss?

Just this: that life is precious. That each moment, being unique and unrepeatable, is momentous. That what happens next is anybody's guess. 

The necessary miracle, it has come to pass! --Surprised at making it back to the right address?

                 
                 Why...er... yes!

Now let your heart be filled with gladness! To found your life on the fathomless abyss is to know the nourishing  

 presence of emptiness. But know this: at the heart of  

 darkness, it's all unfinished business. For the aim of     love is to love more... Are you prepared to live like this?

I ...guess.

With death always staring you in the face?

Er... It is?

Lazarus,wake up! I said wake up! It's time! The hour is upon us. Open your eyes! You are in vibrant process! Ahead the horizon lies in infinite egress...

Then it's true--the quest is endless?

You cannot even begin to guess. 

Will it always be like this?

Whenever possible, yes.

And the future, will it bring happiness?

Orient yourself by this compass, and all things you need will come to pass. Let your faith and confidence be infectious. Give the best you posses, but don't profess. Discover the value of effortlessness. And remember...

Er... yes?

The more you give, the greater the surplus. For though it be in despised dress, this pearl is precious... Now be about your business. Grow into wholeness. Carry on from the sublime to the ridiculous. ...And Alan?

Yes?   

Don't forget to bless.






Botsford, Alan. A Book of Shadows. Katydid Books, 2003.